The Game, Year One
by northernscarlet
Summary: AU The game, my friend, has just begun and Harry Potter is just one of many pawns. Features the usual players and a couple of OCs.
1. Prologue: Before It All Begins

**_Series:_**_ The Game _

**_Title:_**_ Year One_

**_Category: _**_Harry Potter series _

**_Summary_**_:AU The game, my friend, has just begun and Harry Potter is just one of many pawns. Part of the Game series. Features the usual players and a couple of OCs._

**_Major Character(s):_**_ Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ronald Weasley, Severus Snape, Albus Dumbledore_

**_Original Character(s):_**_ Amelia Pierce _

**_Ships:_**_ friendship/enemies among all players _

**_Genres:_**_ Adventure, Angst, Friendship_

**_Author's Notes:_**_ This is my first long-length fanfiction, so please bear with me. Also, this is un-betaed. I'll try to catch my mistakes and correct them, but English is my second language. I see this story and others like this as a way to improve my writing. Till next time. :)_

**_Disclaimer:_**_ I owned nothing._

* * *

**Prologue: Before It All Begins**

Christopher gazed upon the darken sky, the light from the stars battling against the fading sun streaks. The tombstones around him began to lose their shine and adopt a new ashen-like appearance as the glowing wheel sank below the horizon. The air was deathly still and the crackles of life were nowhere to be heard.

It was almost time.

A sudden hawk of a crow broke his train of thought. The wind played with his hair as he glanced around, making sure that none was following him. His black and silver robe rippled behind him in waves as he continued on in his journey. The barely green grass tickled the sole of his shoes as he felt the fading warmth part ways with his exposed skin. The passing headstones and buried bones marked his faithful path. Lives lost in this rubbish but foretold war. A seemingly endless war that all who participated, either by choice or by force, say will never end, unless the Earth stops revolving in its trajectory first.

He must not be late.

The brooding man pushed back a strand of hair that caught in his dark brown eyes as he took note of the time. The silent cemetery was behind him in yards, only empty gravel-filled trail before him. The sky above had finally turned black. The celestial bodies that came out barely illuminate his way and his figure. His shadow stretched beyond his six footed self and hidden itself within the blacken figures of the trees that populated the pathway. The luster of the moonbeams barely highlighted his shallowed, pale cheeks, his long crooked nose, his dull brunette hair that hang by his shoulders and his abnormally large stuck-out ears.

It was unnaturally dark, given the time and place, and he risked not to use magic. To use magic was to expose an artery. A quick slash and the life-giving blood will pool out, leaving the being dead and useless. It was as if to give an unchallenging task to a novice with the goal to extinguish all light in the darkness.

No, he must not use magic and make himself vulnerable in the dark of night. Be part of the darkness or against it.

Christopher shook away thoughts of what to fore come and huffed a sign of annoyance, the cold air beginning to play daggers against his skin. Must they meet once every five hundred years? And, must it be when the world sleep and dream? When monsters underneath beds and in closets come out and play? He cursed himself for letting Edith choose the location and time for their rendezvous. She never take in practicality nor connivence into consideration. He blamed her impulsive blood from her father, the good for nothing git.

He rubbed his hands together in an attempt to gather warmth as his feet made contact with gravel again and again, filling the air with never-ending grinds. The site in which they will meet came nearer with each and every heavy step. Humanity and all living bodies will soon get their collective sigh of relief. The war was about to hit its intermission.

However, like a bee that never stops buzzing, his mind never stop churning. Had he made the right choice? To choose that child above all to be the savior of the magical world? And the child's lover to be the sacrificial lamb to give to the hungry wolf? The hungry wolf that will only stop chewing if given his eternal rest?

Yes, he had made the right choice. He believed in his chosen two, not for what they will become, but for what they will be, if that made any sense. These two will be the light at the end of a very long dark tunnel, the light to each other and the light to this pitiful world. Besides, even if he haven't chosen them, they would still play a part in this matter, no matter the outcome of this impending meeting.

It was faith.

How he detest that word. It reminded him too much of his place in the world. Of what was needed from him, regarding how he felt about the matters.

Like he cared.

Given tradition, the brat Edith will again act as gamekeeper and the wretched Matthew will make his choice to go against Christopher's two. The boy and girl will become two sides of the same coin, and, hopefully, Matthew's incompetent selection will not divide the coin into two, like two sides of a shell broken from its nut to be laid out and eaten by vultures.

Ahh, finally. The end of his journey.

The path gave way to a gate and from the gate to a door. Christopher frowned as he saw two silhouettes against the flickering flames beyond the window.

True, Edith and Matthew were closer to each other than them to him. He once had another to call a friend, a companion in which he would confide and be intimate with, but she was no longer here. Her part in the game had long become obsolete and, thus, she was extinguished.

The game did not allow spares, nor should it be entitled to them. Too many unforeseen consequences and too many unchecked miracles.

However, that did not mean he couldn't miss her, an uncharacteristic nature coming from him of all people, him who knows a thing or two about a path that must be traveled and must not be diverged. Her time had come to an end, her path became filled with pebbles, rather than stones, then nothing at all. She was to be forgotten, like all those before him, before Edith, before Matthew.

Nevertheless, his fleeting thoughts always returned to her.

No.

He must not think of her before his meeting with the two lions, both whom wants claim to be king. He must again win this round to prolong his version of peace.

Or, at least, get to gloat like a little child in front of Edith and Matthew.

As Christopher was about to turn the knob and enter the room, he heard an explosion in the distance. The sounds of tears and tragedies suddenly fill the once silent air. The smell of death slowly began to permeate his nose. He smiled in anticipation. This war will soon be given a rest, to be allow to fall into a deep, undisturbed sleep.

Wait to what they'll witness in eighteen years. It'll make this bloodshed seem like nothing, just the tip of an oversized iceberg, and they'll have to beg for a savior, for everlasting tranquility.

He couldn't wait.

If he had chosen right, the cold winter ice that penetrated all cracks and fractures will begin to melt. The glowing warmth of the sun will grow brighter by day. The flowers and grass will flourish out of the now fertile soil.

He cared not if the pathetic beings finally know some peace. His only goal in his participation was to know the feeling of triumph, of being victorious, as he did last time and the time before that.

Because, by gods, he hates it when he lose. He also don't get to dangle the lollipop in front of the two babies either. Now _that_ will be a crime against humanity.

Turning his attention back to the situation at hand, he finally twisted the knob open and entered the room. This time it was he who is the vulture eyeing his prey.

"Brother, sister. Missed me?"


	2. Sorting Heads

**Chapter One: Sorting Heads**

A glow was casted over the students and faculty as excitement and anticipation filled the air. The alabaster hue floating candles lit the Great Hall as one by one small, wide-eyed first years were trooped into the grand room by Professor McGonagall.

Each and every one of the students currently sitting had to go through this ritual: the humiliation, the horror, the unknown. It was a rite of passage to become a proper Hogwarts student, to be inspected like a predator does prey. They were to be judged of who and what they are at age eleven, barely out of being a child and not yet lived as a teen, but old enough to surmise and deduce their character.

The ratty, ramshackle hat being use to sort was placed on a regular wooden stool as if it was regal, as if it was a crown to be held and not relinquished. This seemingly nothing hat, here since the birth of the school, was given by the four founders power and insight in order to provide guidance to the succeeding generations in a world in which they were gone. It was to be provide awareness, knowledge and awakening, but, most of all, a sense of self and belonging.

There are four houses in which the student could be placed, named after each founding member of the school and based on specific traits in which the members were known for. The student could be placed in Gryffindor, the house of bravery and chivalry, or in Hufflepuff, the house in which one was true and just. Ravenclaw required wit and intelligence and Slytherin demanded craftiness and calculation.

As each student made their way and participated in their part of the ritual, no different from squires waiting to be knighted, the exhilaration and thrill was becoming too difficult to maintain. The harshness of tone from McGonagall and the deathly glares and scowls from the Potion Master did little to help the matter. Each house was eager to open their arms wide and accept the newcomers as their own, as if they were never strangers in the first place.

"Granger, Hermione!"

The bushy haired girl trudged up to the stool, avoiding eye-contacts and smiles of encouragement. She envisioned that she was back in gym class in the muggle school of hers. The girl who was always picked last, standing on the sidelines as everyone else had fun and hilarity. The one that no one ever wanted.

Must they be singled out one by one?

_Cheer up_, the hat said as it moved a bit to fit around the girl's bushy hair. _You will shine at Hogwarts._

_I will?_ questioned the girl. She was startled at first to hear an unknown voice within her mind, but then she remembered that she was currently in a vast castle, where there were ghosts and magical ceilings and everything beyond her wildest imaginations.

_Yes, and, my, you'll have an astonishing future ahead of you. Though you'll have to watch out. There are those who only wish you success for their own ploy._

The girl was about to ask the magical hat more about that matter but did not as she couldn't contain her grin when the hat shouted out the house Gryffindor. Forgetting what it had said earlier, she happily placed the hat back on the stool and walked quickly, almost skipping, to her assigned table.

Other students were confident in the house in which they would be placed. It was just a matter of family honor and having the right blood. For the blonde-haired Draco Malfoy, the magical hat could not of shouted the house Slytherin fast enough before it was place on the child's head, as if the hat was avoiding fire or, worst, slow death from poison.

There will always be questionable inquires on certain placements. The brunette haired Amelia Pierce was a muggle-born, sharing Hermione's view of the magical world as a strange and wondrous alien culture. She was placed in Slytherin, a house known for pure bloods and fierce family loyalty as well as to one another. A house in which You-Know-Who claimed ownership as well as many of his devoted followers. It was not a house to take too kindly on, no matter under what circumstances.

Then there was Harry Potter, the one and only. When his name was called, the whispers that already filled the Great Hall went up a notch, similar to the constant highs and lows of a crowd mumbling. Students in the back were climbing on their seat to get a glance of the Boy Who Lived, the savior of their world. The boy who was but a tot ten years prior, yet he saved the magical and muggle world from the wrath of the You-Know-Who, his true name few dared say. The attempts by McGonagall to still the students went unheard as they anxiously wait for the outcome of his sorting. They all wanted him to be sorted into their house, save Slytherins, though if asked they would welcome the savior after some hesitation. The war was behind them...right?

_Ah, Harry Potter_, said the hat in a rather monotone voice. It cared not for the anticipation and excitement from the room before him.

The hat was large on his small head and Harry could barely make out the hall. _Yes?_ the boy hesitantly answered.

_Plenty of courage, I see. A brilliant mind, though not as brilliant as the one before you._

_Thanks?_ said Harry as he moved around a bit on the stool. He didn't like the attention he was getting nor did he like being displayed and being treated not so different from an encaged animal at the zoo.

He was more than his name.

_I see talent and an overwhelming desire to protect and defend. You're not a mother bear at a lost of where her cubs are, are you not?_ said the magical hat as he laughed along with his joke.

_What?_ It seemed to Harry that his only replies thus far were questions. He took in a short shaky breath and tried to still his shaking hands. He gripped the edge of the stool tightly, daring not to let go. To let go was to fall from a treacherous cliff overlooking a menacing, blue ocean as the waves held out their arms and invited him in.

His aunt would spank him if he even think of asking questions. His uncle would use his mother's mother's rigid cane against his buttocks. His astonishingly over-weight cousin would laugh and taunt and gather his friends to chase the smaller boy down.

Just breathe in and out.

In and out.

In.

Out.

He was with friends here.

He was currently in a magical, enormous, dreams come true castle.

_Be happy._

Harry slowly released his fingers from the stool, one by one.

_Never mind. I'm only to be use once a year and I must entertain myself to pass the time_, revealed the seemingly living fabric. There was silent for the next moment or so as the hat continued on with his search. This youngster will have a difficult path ahead of him. _Ah, a thirst to prove yourself...Now, where to put you?_

Harry didn't like that a hat of all things was searching through his mind, getting to the very core of who he is, even he himself didn't know what he is capable of. He just...he just...will they stop whispering about him already? _Gryffindor. I'll be able to make use of my position in Gryffindor._

The hat paused in his pondering. It was not uncommon to have the student suggest the placement of their house, why the student before him had the same objective. _Ah, a plan, I see. Suppose I can change your mind? Slytherin, you see, would do you good. No? Well, if you so wish then it shall be_...GRYFFINDOR, the last word shouted out for all to hear.

Cheers and shouts greeted Harry as he walked shakily to the table with the red and gold pennants magically hung from the ceiling. He glanced around and made out a few faces he saw on the train. Ron Weasley had yet to be sorted, but seeing his older brothers Percy and the twins at the same table as he, Harry was sure that his new found friend would be in the same house as him.

The other houses seemed to be sadden by their lost prospect of having the savior of the magical world under their name. Even some of the Slytherins had the appearance of a child who's been told that he or she couldn't have a lollipop for a job well done.

Seeing that there were a few more students to go, Harry began to observe the faculty at the High Table. The Headmaster seemed to be pleased with his placement. The elderly wizard raised his golden goblet when they made eye contact. The one they called Professor Snape would not stop staring at him. Harry again cursed his famous name. Professor Quirrell didn't look at all that much different compared to the day Harry met him at Diagon Alley, though a bit more put together and less spooked. Hagrid just gave him a mountainous smile, as if he was the father sending his child to his first day of school, placing his dreams and desires on his son and wishing him everlasting success.

After hearing the Headmaster choice of a "few words," Harry gave a small sigh of relief as he glanced down at his suddenly filled plate of food.

He had done it. He had made it to Hogwarts, where there were wands and owls and magic. He would not fail his mother and father now. No, just the opposite. He will make them proud. He will make them all proud.

Now, if only he could stop his scar from hurting.

* * *

Professor Snape patrolled quickly and quietly through the castle empty hallways, making sure that none of the students got the stupid idea of sneaking out of their dormitory on the first night, like so many years before. He was not born yesterday. He knows what students like to do in the dead of night.

Inconsiderate brats.

...

But it was his mission to protect them.

The start of the term banquet went well, though he could do without the cheers, the tears, the shouts, and definitely, definitely without that hideous, repulsive, outrageously annoying dimwitted school song. Just one year, just one year without that thing they call singing. Was that too much to ask?

The creaks and light thumps of his footsteps proved to be his only allies as he continued walking down the corridor near the kitchens. No hurried footsteps of students trying to sneak out food, nor where there hushed tones littering the hallway.

All was quiet.

Well, if they weren't here, they must be somewhere else causing trouble. Snape quicken his stride and headed to the revolving staircases.

Draco Malfoy was in his house. He should write to Lucius, informing the family, though why he even bother when he was sure Draco already owled his father the news.

Ah, yes.

Draco's mother.

Snape must look out for him, as he promised Narcissa. She had always been a bit too overly protective of her son for Snape's taste, but he must take on the obligation of being the boy's godfather seriously and without questions. The Malfoys were there for him during the years after the war, and he was for them, though not entirely out of respect and gratitude. It was more of an insurance, making sure he had a second home when the first succumb to fire and treachery. He had Albus on one side and the Malfoys on the other.

Snape must also be on alert to Amelia Pierce, a blue-eyed child in a house of snakes and poison. A muggle-born in Slytherin? She would be eaten alive, no doubt about it. She'll be chewed up, spited out and chewed up some more, if not by her housemates, then by others afraid of the color green and silver.

But, most importantly, Harry. Though that brat contained the good for nothing appearance of his father, the boy had Lily's soft, gentle green eyes. Eyes in which the owner could look upon him and see through to his very core, to his soul and beyond. Eyes in which he felt a sense of failure as well as a sense of loss when looked upon.

And, of course, eyes belonging to a child of James Potter.

Snape had no doubts about it. Harry will get into trouble, break school rules and care not for his classmates, just like his father.

Typical.

How he managed to make peace with James under Lily's encouragements...it was a God forsaken miracle. He had made peace with him, but that did not mean he couldn't still blame him with all the horrid things he and Sirius had done upon him during his years as a student here.

However, Albus must had sense an aura of loathing for it was he who had put Snape back into place. After everyone had eaten and went back to their dormitory, Albus surprised the Potion Master by taking him aside and voicing his thoughts.

_Remember your promise, Severus. Do not forget your role in the matters._

How could he forget? How he gotten his best friend killed? How he should had used his place as a spy within the inner circle to prevent that said murder? How he failed in saving someone very close to Albus' heart as well as his own? He did not need reminding of his place and his mission. The blacken mark on his skin already proven to be an effective reminder.

And, of course, Quirrell.

That stupid idiot had gotten back worst then ever, though he couldn't imagined how. A teacher with a stutter? Albus should've sacked that man and given Snape the Defense Against the Dark Arts position. He would certainly do a tremendously better job than that blubbering idiot. Why he should be on alert around Quirrell was also another troubling matter, but Albus...was that snickering?

Why, those brainless brats.

Snape's black robes made a whoosh as he quickly turned around and headed back to the kitchens, his footsteps loud and distinctive. The air around him suddenly felt more charged. He gripped his wand in anticipation of the encounter. The figures in the moving paintings shook their heads as they watched the man in black hurried away.

There was a job to be done.

And he was there to make sure it gets done.

* * *

The dust particles danced around each other in a tango as they made themselves known in the moonbeams. From the window, one could see the brilliant shine from the stars as well as the distinguishing white-gray moon in the clear, cool night sky. All was quiet, expect for the insects' hums and hooting owls. The sounds of the ticking clock softly lured the sleeping boys to a deep, dreams filled sleep. The constant snores of his roommates around him kept Harry company as he reflect back on the day and the month last.

It had been a long month at the Dursley's, ever since Hagrid showed up with his Hogwarts letter. He had been counting down the days, the hours, even the minutes. He had heard so much and looked so forward to finally be within the castle walls, to finally feel what his parents had felt when they walked through the front gate.

What he didn't count on was him being so, being so...well-known. He gotten a gist of it when he went to Diagon Alley with Hagrid, but to have so many eyes and admiration upon him...it was all too much. All too very much. How could he be regarded as a hero, a savior, when he was anything but?

He was just a tiny, little helpless toddler when he defeated the Dark Lord. He was nothing special. He had done nothing to accept the honor and privilege of being the knight in shining armor, saving the world from eternal darkness.

_I'm just Harry._

Sighing and turning over so his back faced away from the moon-lit window, Harry thought back to the banquet, an event that seemed so far away now. He had never seen so much food before in his life. He had never experienced a full belly nor had he experienced what it was like to actually be the one to choose his food and eat to his heart content without worrying about any other.

His new friend Ron kept Harry's spirit up by talking about the wonders of the castle, of his stories his brothers told him and of the magical world in general. His fellow Gryffindors did not allow him a moment rest, asking him questions about his up-bringing and his life back home.

Harry just nodded and stuffed his mouth with food to avoid answering any of them.

Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington introduced himself as the resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower and preceded in grossing the majority of the first-years with the demonstration of his nickname. His purpose was to get them to win the House Cup, though Harry didn't really care for the competition. He was just trying to get through the fest.

Though the banquet was delicious and exquisite, he could not of help feeling watched throughout dinner. The oil-slicked hair Potion Master did not lift his eyes from him and Harry swore that the purple turban wearing Professor Quirrell was eyeing him in a hostile way, a fleeting moment in which Harry actually felt fear for some unknown reason.

Maybe it was just his imaginations. His aunt always said that his daydreams would be the death of him some day.

Nevertheless, Harry did not imagine his scar hurting. The sudden pierce of pain radiating from the disfigurement down to his neck and out through his fingers and toes.

It was a sign. He knew it was. But, what?

Harry fingered the necklace he always wore around his neck, hidden away and always beneath his shirt. Hanging from a gold, thin chain, the charm letters S and L intersect in such a way that the S was connected and attached to the lower L, as if the S was holding the letter up, wanting not to be broken apart and given away. He was told that his mother was wearing this necklace when she was killed.

Will it give him luck when it had failed to do so for his mother?

Harry also had another charm that he could not deal without. Underneath his pillow was a broken piece of mirror, its edges sharp and jagged. His only friend's mother had the mirror placed in a locket especially made for it, protecting the mirror from the cruel, outside world.

The mirror was a gift. A gift he would cherish and adore till the end of his days. It was perfect because he liked to observe people, to get into their mentality and figure out why they act the way they act. It was all he got to do at the Dursleys', other than hiding out at the library, since Dudley would not go within two hundred meters of that place.

If he couldn't be part of the family, he could try to envision what it was like to be part of another, one that loved and adored him. He would look at himself in the mirror and wish for more, more than what he was given in this life. The mirror was not exceptional, nor was its ordinary, just different. It was made for him and him only.

Or, that was what he liked to believe.

It was given to him by his only friend. And now...she was too far away to comfort him on his first night here, at this strange and wondrous magic-filled castle. He shouldn't feel homesick, especially since he lives with the Dursleys, but he couldn't help but admit that he was...a bit homesick that is.

But, having his necklace and the mirror here with him, he'll never be alone.

A wolf howled from the Forbidden Forest, signaling a flight of birds from their perch. The sudden flaps of their wings broke through the once silent night.

He should probably get to sleep. It wouldn't do anyone good, especially him, if he was to fall asleep in class on the first day.


	3. Classes, the Root of All Evil

**Chapter Two: Classes, the Root of All Evil...**

The first week of classes wasn't all that special, though Harry surprised Ron one too many times on where they needed to go, hardly ever getting lost in the vast magical castle, like so many other newly arrived first-years. Harry had just said that he was following a fellow classmate of theirs. However, Ron was skeptical but took Harry's words at face-valued. Harry wouldn't lie to him, would he?

Harry enjoyed eating at the Great Hall, where he was with friends and had the choice in what to eat. He treasured those moments on getting to know more about his housemates, on which Quidditch team was the best and how each one of his housemates were brought up. With some persuasion, Harry even asked how they viewed the Wizarding War and how their families lived their life since.

However, the one thing that Harry couldn't stand was the _constant whisperings and pointing. _He hated that his fellow students were waiting for him outside their classrooms, hoping to take a peek at him, like he was some type of famous actor being stalked by the paparazzi. He was so used to being forgotten and out of mind that this sudden intrusion of fame and distinction put him off. There was no need to remind him why he was famous in the first place. His parents died and he survived. Why should that be celebrated?

Out of all the classes, Harry particularly like Astronomy, the celestial bodies and the constellations were the same in both Muggle and Wizarding world. He liked being out in the cool, night air as well as being able to look upon the Forbidden Forest without the need of venturing, wondering about the various types of creatures and plant life within and between the trees. He was able to make out the gas giant Jupiter and a few constellations on his first week there.

Herbology wasn't his strong suit, as far as he could tell, though it seemed to Harry that he knew a bit more than his fellow classmates. He always liked history, but the History of Magic left a lot to be desired. No offense to a class being taught by a ghost, but the professor was a dull, so much so that one could be bored to death.

Harry did not at all liked his Defense Against the Dark Arts class with Professor Quirrell. Besides from his scar hurting from time to time and the terrible smell of garlic, Quirrell just seemed too spook and insecure in his handling with the students. Harry also could not get rid the feeling of fear he gotten from the purple turban wearing professor during the start of the term banquet.

He looked forward to Charms and Transfiguration, since he heard that those were his mother's and father's best subject, respectively. However, the professors that taught those classes couldn't be more different from one another other. Professor Flitwick was kind and patient while Professor McGonagall was stern and strict.

Nevertheless, Professor McGonagall gave him and Hermione a small smile when they both turned their match into needle, two out of three students who were able to do so during their first class with her.

The other was Amelia Pierce and it seemed to Harry that she wasn't able to make much friends or companionship during their short week here. Actually, she wasn't the only one having trouble making friends. Neville Longbottom seemed to walk on his own tune, bumping into others and getting lost constantly around the castle, like a bee that lost its sense of direction and could not make out where the mother hive was.

Ron seemed to be taking living in a castle with stride. He was at home here, his older brothers "looking" out for him, though in the twin's minds it was to get him into trouble trying to open the door to the forbidden third corridor and Percy nagging him to get started on his homework.

His fellow Gryffindors were kind. Lavender Brown helped Harry pick up his books that he dropped outside the Great Hall one morning. Dudley would just kick him in the face as Harry bend down to pick up the items his cousin made him drop in the first place. Dean Thomas and him shared common interests in choice of favorite films and music.

The time he was with the other Houses were in class or in the Great Hall. The Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws at first seemed indistinguishable from one another. They seemed to mix and mingle as one does in a crowd at a football game. Harry was able to pick out traits and their tics as well as their name by the end of the week, thanks to his habit of people watching, again trying to fill in the void.

Finally, Friday came around and so did Double Potions with Slytherin, along with Professor Snape. Ron was not looking forward to that class, as were other first-year Gryffindors that sat near them at breakfast. Neville looked like he was about to faint from nausea and dizziness.

Harry had decided that the dungeons were too dark, gloomy and misty for any sane person's taste, let alone a class being held there. Maybe it was an extension of the professor's choice of color and unwelcoming aura about him. Also, his choice of wall decorations were not winning him any favorable points. Bottled pickled species floating around in glass jars? Thanks for confirming his uncle's notions about wizards and witches being incompetent, worthless, soul-eating freaks.

The class ceased whispering when Professor Snape sauntered in, taking care to eye each student as he walked the length of the room. "There is no foolish wand-waving here. No spells to memorized in your _tiny _little brain of yours." Silence greeted his proclamation.

He paused by the table that contained Ron and Harry before heading to his desk at the front. "I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses." His voice creeped slowly through the room, holding each student entranced with its smooth ebb and flow.

Seeing that he held the students' attention, Professor Snape took out a scroll and began checking students off. He was rather fond of his authorial hold over them, giving them no chance of speaking out their idiotic minds.

Harry sat there as the Potion Master began to call out names. His fingers itched to do something useful as he fought the urge to tap his feet. It was a nice change in pace, where no one was trying to sneak Harry a glance or whisper about him. However, the quietness and the stillness...it left too much silent for one to think.

"Amelia Pierce," said Snape as he checked off the name he previous called.

"Here," replied a small, barely there voice. Harry looked over with concern. The girl had her head down and hands folded on her lab. She looked...lonely. Maybe he should speak to her afterwards. Harry was concern that she might be bullied, a lonely girl against the tidal wave of childhood cruelness. He unfortunately had an abundance of experience with that respect.

Actually, he was concern with how this class would go, to be honest.

But...

She hardly eaten anything or spoken much to anyone, as far as Harry observed. He didn't feel like leaving her alone when he could do something about it. After what he had gone through with Dudley, no one should be alone.

A scratched. "Ah, yes," the professor said softly, "Harry Potter. Our new - _celebrity_." His face showed no emotions yet the students present could hear, see and feel the underlying detest beyond the words spoken.

Harry cringed at the mention of the word _celebrity_ and grind his teeth. Looking away from the muggle-born Slytherin, Harry quickly glanced back down to the table.

Yes, he got it already. He's well-known. Famous, even.

Get the hell over it.

After calling out the last student, Snape closed his scroll and began to make his way around the room assessing each student, as though he hadn't done so already when he came in.

"I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death." Snape let a moment of silent be filled in as he continued strolling. The tension within the dungeon began to grow to an unsettling pinnacle.

Snape knew he held the class's attention. Snape also knew that he must set an example, to set a standard on how his class should run and what was expected of being _his_ student without him even giving breath and life to words indicating so.

He paused by Harry, arms crossed.

Another moment passed.

"Potter!" said Snape suddenly, startling the class and Harry. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" The professor wasn't even looking at the boy. Instead, he was staring ahead to the chalkboard, as if the elder wizard already knew that the boy wouldn't answer his question. Or, if he did, the boy would be dreadfully incorrect.

Hermione's right arm immediately shot through the air, as if this was a life and death question that only she had the elixir for. Draco just smirked at the boy savior and Ron looked helpless for his friend.

Harry clutched his fists once, twice, before letting out a breath of air.

"Well?" questioned the professor, his lips set in a thin line and he began to tap his wand against his chest. This boy, as he thought, knows nothing.

_Tap, tap, tap. _

"Asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion known as the Draught of Living Death," said Harry, softly. He hated the attention he was getting from the professor in a situation like this. He will not let himself be made an example of.

Snape pierced his lips and stopped his tapping. The potion professor finally acknowledged the boy's existence by dragging his attention away from the chalkboard and onto Harry. The glare and his hostile body language spoke volumes.

Meanwhile, Hermione gave Harry a smile while the rest of the Gryffindors looked surprise at his answer. Draco just muttered "luck guess" while leaning back away from the table and crossing his arms in a defiant manner.

Suddenly, a break in the silence. "Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?" said Snape, his words dripping with ice and malice.

Harry dared not look at the professor's face as he answered the question. This time quicker than the last and spared Hermione no glance as she raised her hand yet again, Harry said, "A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat. The use of it usually save you from most poisons." Harry slowly stretched out his tense fingers that laid underneath the table and on his lap.

Not a drop could be heard as the students waited anxiously for the professor to respond.

"What then, pray tell, is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Hermione's hand again shot up for the third time as she sat at the edge of her seat waiting to be noticed.

This time Harry indeed looked over to her before raising his head to look at Professor Snape, green orbs on black.

"They're from the same plant, sir."

Silence. No one moved.

Snape raised one of his eyebrows and broke eye contact with Harry to look at the room. "Well?" he directed to the rest of the class. "Why aren't you all writing this down?" Finally, a shift in the air. The tension was broken.

There was a sudden scramble for parchments and quills as the professor glanced at the boy once again before heading to the chalkboard.

"Merlin," said Ron in astonishment. "How did you know that?" His red-haired friend was struggling on how to spell the word asphodel.

"I was at the library last night," whispered Harry, slowly. "I thought that I give the textbook a try."

"So that where you go each night after dinner," replied Ron. He cursed as he gotten some ink on his robe. "Blimey, I've beginning to wonder."

"I just needed some escape, that's all. I'm tired of being pointed at and whispered about." Harry kept his head down and stared at the tabletop before him. He really did not want to have this conversation.

"But, you're famous, Harry," said Ron, not understanding. Everyone wanted to be famous. Everyone wanted to be well-known. "If it was me, I wouldn't mind the glory and the attention you get."

Harry squeezed his eyes shut. _Well then, you're not me_...y_ou should thank God. _

Hermione looked over with concern before placing her attention back on the piece of parchment in front of her.

She'll ask Harry about this and other odd incidents later.

* * *

"Another Weasley, eh?" said Hagrid as he glanced at Ron. "I spent half me life chasin' yer twin brothers away from the forest." He nodded along as he made the statement.

Harry had invited Ron to his trip to Hagrid's hut after lunch. He was glad that he could get away from the hustle and bustle of life within the castle walls. It felt nice to have the cool breeze air fluttering through his hair, the sun giving warmth to his skin, and someone and someplace to escape to.

Harry was still a bit unsettle after potions class, through the mishap and the malice. How the hell was he suppose to watch over Neville's potion when he had his own cauldron to looked after? It was just Snape's excuse to deduct him a point, that good for nothing...no. Don't be like your relatives, Harry. You are better than that.

After politely accepting Hagrid's rock cakes, the three managed a conversation about their first week here at Hogwarts. Well, Ron and Hagrid struck up a discussion while Harry watched from the sidelines. He preferred to listen without taking part, as he had always done so in his entire life. It was easier to get info and details if one kept their mouth shut.

"Filch didn't believe me when I said I was lost! I truly thought that that door lead to the Great Hall! Who knew that it actually lead to the third corridor!" explained Ron, his discolored rock cake untouched by his hand.

"That old git. An' as fer that cat, Mrs. Norris, I'd like ter introduce her to Fang sometime. D'yeh know, every time I go up ter the school, she follows me everywhere? Can't get rid of her - Filch puts her up to it," retorted Hagrid, agreeing with Ron on his opinions about the caretaker.

The conversation finally turned away from Hogwarts to Ron's older brother Charlie's work. Harry, who didn't have much input before, definitely had nothing to add here, sat idly by.

He was helping himself to a cup of tea when he noticed a cut out worn piece of paper that was lying on the floor, as if it wanted to be discovered. He bent down to pick it up when he noticed that it was a article cut out from the _Daily Prophet_.

Wait.

He had heard that Gringotts was robbed, but he didn't know that it was on his birthday. Nor the fact that the vault was emptied earlier the same day.

Could it be? Vault seven hundred and thirteen?

Harry placed the paper down on the table, thinking. Should he risk asking Hagrid?

No. It would do him no good. Hagrid wouldn't answer his questions anyway. And, besides, one like himself should never ask questions, as his aunt always said.

But, maybe...

"Ron, I think it's time to head back," said Harry as he got up from the table.

"Now? But we just got here," complained Ron. He and Hagrid were in an animated conversation about the differences between various types of dragon scales. Hanging out with Charlie back home while avoiding the twins had its benefits.

"We've actually been here for awhile, Ron. Besides, you and the others decided to teach me and Dean the rules of Quidditch, remember?" Harry needed to get out of the hut. He needed to get past articles about this Gringotts matter, though he wondered how he was going to accomplish that without arising suspicions.

"Right, right. I still can't believe you know _nothing_ about Quidditch, the only greatest sport that ever invented!" said Ron, his cheeks turning pink with excitement.

After saying good-bye to Hagrid, Ron and Harry began to head back to the castle, their pockets laden with rock cakes they couldn't get out of by saying no.

Harry needed to find out more about the Gringotts mystery. He needed to find out more about what was in the package that Hagrid had taken out of the vault. What was so important and so small? Why did Dumbledore felt the need to remove it from Gringotts in the first place?

How did someone get in there and out without being captured or seen?

* * *

"Harry! Excuse me...Harry! Wait!" cried a desperate voice that pierce through the rowdy hallway, as distinctive as hearing a child voice in a crowd of men.

Ron and Harry were walking to the Great Hall when they heard Hermione calling out Harry's name. Ron pretended not to hear her and tried to tug Harry along, but he wouldn't budge. Instead, Harry gave Ron a look and shook his head before mouthing the word _stop_.

"Fine, but if we're late for dinner, it's on you," muttered Ron, angrily. Couldn't his friend tell that he did not at all like that bossy know-it-all?

"Thanks for stopping," said Hermione as she gasped for breath. She placed her right hand on her chest to still her trembling frame. Hermione eyed the glasses wearing boy warily, wondering how their conversation will go once she voiced her suspicions. "I just want to inquire you a few questions, Harry."

"If it's about You-Know-Who or his bloody scar or if he remembered how his parents die, get in line!" huffed the red head as he crossed his arms. Ron had enough of them already. People should just leave Harry alone for once!

"Ron!" exclaimed Harry. He caught his friend's eyes and shook his head again. Sometimes Harry couldn't understand how his friend could be so rude.

Hermione gave Ron a horrified look. "I won't and I'll never ask about that! It's already frightening enough without all those details." She paused for a bit. "No, what I want to know is...you live in a muggle family, right?" Hermione asked tentatively.

"How is that not asking about his past?" mumbled Ron, looking down and using his right foot to aggressively rub the floor.

Harry, choosing to ignore his friend, answered, "Yes. Why is this important, Hermione?" _Why do you care? _

"Well, if you were raised in a muggle family, I was wondering how you know so much about the Wizarding world. I mean, you seemed to know your stuff about magic dos and don'ts in class and you know your way around and..."

"How about you?" asked Ron, cutting Hermione off. "Harry can say the same thing about you, the girl who always raises her hand, trying to past off knowledge onto others when we didn't ask for it. The girl who has only books for a companion and always telling people what to do. How is that different?"

Hermione just stared at the tall red-head, her eyes tearing up. "Never mind, it was a stupid thing to ask." She quickly tore down the corridor, getting away from the duo as if they were two sharks waiting for an attack.

"Ron, you were being mean," said Harry as he watched Hermione's retreating form. Ron shouldn't of told her off like that.

"What? No I wasn't," replied Ron. He was defending his friend! "I just said that she was being a bossy know-it-all and it was the truth!"

Harry clenched his right hand. "Ron, name calling is still mean. You also been complaining about her every time we have classes together. She is in our house. She is in our year. She is a _friend. _You'll need to apologized to her." He hated those types of people.

Ron stared at his friend for a moment or so before saying, "Fine. I still don't see what's the big deal is, but fine."

Harry glared at Ron a bit more before nodding his head. Small steps at a time. They resumed their walk down the hallway in the throngs of other students heading for dinner.

"You were right in ignoring her orders though. The way you flew and saved Neville's Remembrall...that was bloody brilliant!" exclaimed Ron, reenacting how Harry reached out and caught the round shaped object. "And becoming Seeker? First-years never get to be on the Quidditch team! You've must been the first! Or second, or maybe third? Who cares! You're on the team, Harry. You're on the team." He patted his friend on the back.

"I don't know what to say," said Harry, thinking back to the incident. He was just trying to help out a friend. There was nothing wrong with that.

"You don't need to say anything. You just...what is it, Harry?" asked Ron. Harry was currently looking through his bag, his eyebrows scrunched up.

"My quill," Harry finally said. "I think I left it back in the classroom." He thought for sure that he placed his quill back into his bag after class, along with his parchment and textbook. He knew he did.

"Well, go get it. I'll save you a seat in the Great Hall," said Ron. He should've offered to go with his friend, but his tummy said otherwise.

"Thanks," said Harry, smiling. "I won't be long." He hurried off back down the corridor they just walked.

Slowing down to a stride, Harry suddenly noticed that he was alone in the hallway. The lack of voices and shuffling made his footsteps seems loud and destructive.

Well, that was never a good sign.

Harry quicken his steps and turned into the classroom he and Ron had left when he bumped into a male form, as if he was being asked to be bumped into, standing in the middle of the doorway without moving an inch.

"Sorry," said Harry as he tried to regain his footing. The hands around his shoulder did not let go.

"I know that you missed me, but I didn't realized how much," replied a soothing, silky voice, with a hint of glee and banter.

Wait.

Harry knew that voice.

Looking up, Harry saw a figure wearing black and silver robes, a face that held a long crooked nose and brunette hair that was still swaying a bit from the impact.

"Christopher," whispered Harry.

Yes, pick an obscure and unpleasant time to pop in for a visit.

Perfect.


	4. Or Is It Pets?

**Chapter Three: ...Or Is It Pets? **

"Next time, I want a bit more emphasis on the -pher and for you to sound like a friend seeing a dear friend who have just come home from a war he didn't expect to survive. You know, with _emotions_," declared the enigmatic wizard. "I'm starting to think that you do not want me visiting you. After all, you're my favorite charge." The mysterious man gave Harry a wide smile, showing off his perfect white teeth.

"What are you doing here?" Harry seriously did not want him here. How many times had he told Chris? Phone, owl, write, _whatever _before he drops by. Seriously, communication would do him a whole lot of good.

"Why, warning you, of course. I don't want you to die your first year here. Unless, you want to be killed, then be my guest," said the man in black and silver robe, shrugging before smiling yet again.

Let's go back to the lack of communication, yes?

"You've been saying that to me since I first met you. You sure know how to terrify five-years-old," said Harry as he walked around the older wizard and into the classroom. He made a motion for the older gentlemen to close the door. Harry seriously did not want to get into a conversation with a professor, especially Snape, about why he was talking to an unknown wizard that has no affiliations with Hogwarts.

"And one of these days, you will take my warnings seriously," said Chris, sighing dramatically. "Ah, well." He suddenly disappeared and re-appeared sitting on top of the desk, looking down at the boy savior. "Tell me. Kissed any girls lately? No, wait! Hexed someone? Blinded your classmates with your glory that is your..."

"Tell me what it is you want and leave." Harry crossed his arms and gave Chris a glare. "I'm late for dinner." Engaging with the older wizard always involved talking in circles. Just get to the point already, Christo_pher_.

"I blame your relatives," sniffed Chris, dapping dry a make-believe tear from his right eye. "You're always too hard on me, and, yes, that is a sexual euphemism."

Harry shook his head. "Eleven years old here. Stop trying to corrupt me."

"It's already too late for that, dear," said Chris. He hopped off the table, his robe spread spectacularly out behind him. "And you don't act your age. Go out and act your age! Seriously, hex someone. How about that Draco kid?"

"Chris," said Harry, sternly.

"to-_pher_. Full name, please. Full name." He eyed the child for a moment before snapping his right thumb and index finger. "How are you?" Chris eyed the boy with concern.

Harry glanced at the floor, away from the sudden concerning wizard before him. "Fine," he finally said.

"One must suffer before one achieve greatness," said Chris, trying to sound affectionate but failed.

"If you are not here for anything, can I go now? I don't want to keep my friends waiting," said Harry, his voice a bit louder than the last time he spoke.

"Yes, yes, of course," replied Chris. He snapped his fingers and the door leading to the hallway opened. He snapped his fingers again and a quill from his robes magically floated to Harry's bag before being dropped inside. "I am serious though. You need to be on a look out for danger. I can't have you dying on me."

"What else is new?" said Harry as he walked through the doorway. Harry used his magic to shut the door behind him, trying to put distance away from the grown wizard and his fate.

* * *

Ron stood by the stairway leading to the students' sleeping quarters and looked out into the common room. It was getting a bit late and few where up studying or chatting, gossiping most likely. He spotted Hermione sitting in one of the armchair by the fireplace. She was alone.

Harry was right. Ron was a bit hard on Hermione the other day. It was just...the way she acts and the way she composes herself that reminded him too much of his older brothers. Well, not the twins, but Percy and Bill. A bit of Charlie. He saw in her the potential his mother hoped to see in him, which he would never, ever lived up to.

Rubbing one of his sock covered feet against the red and golden carpet, he debated whether to go over and apologize.

It was just not his brothers that Hermione reminded him of. The bushy headed girl also reminded him of Harry. Hermione may be vocal inside a classroom, but outside? Good luck trying to get two words out of her. Harry was the same way. He barely talks, only when spoken to, and even then it was a stretch.

The Boy Who Lived never talked much about his home nor his family. He won't talk about his schooling nor any aspect of muggle life in general. He also absolutely hated talking about his fame and what he had done when he was one.

Well, Ron understood that portion at least. Why waste time boosting about how he defeated You-Know-Who when the same incident scared you for life and left you parentless?

Ron gave a shuddered. No matter how much he complained about his mother or his brothers and even his annoying little sister, he couldn't imagine a world without them in it. They were his family. They loved him unconditionally and vice versa. Every child needed that.

Ron was about to step forward and walk into the common room when he suddenly tread back. Maybe the reason why Hermione and Harry acted the way they do was because of their lack of love from their family?

From friends?

He couldn't remember a time Harry or Hermione ever talked about a friend.

Suddenly, determination set upon his face. He stride into the common room with conviction and walked briskly over to Hermione. They were the last two left. Their other housemates left during the time he was deciding whether or not he should go over to her or not. It was almost time for curfew.

"I'm sorry," Ron quickly said when he reached the girl, before he lost his nerve.

"What?" Hermione asked in confusion. She placed a bookmark in the book she was reading and turned to face Ron. Why was he talking to her? Given his impression of her, Hermione doubted that Ron would ever speak to her unless force.

"For the other day...for what I said...I'm sorry," said Ron. His right hand reached up to scratch his head in embarrassment. "I was just...you're my housemate and in my year. I guess what I'm trying to say is..." His cheeks were beginning to redden. This was becoming very awkward very quickly.

"Let's start over," said Hermione, taking control of the situation. She stood up and held out her hand. "My name is Hermione Granger."

"I'm Ronald Weasley," replied Ron. He shook her hand. "Ron for short," added Ron as an afterthought.

The two stood in silence for a few seconds, their hand long returned to their side. Ron didn't know what to make of the situation. He looked over to Hermione and saw that she was staring intently at him. He quickly lowered his eyes.

Seeing his subdued look, Hermione smiled and said, "Apology accepted." Maybe he had changed after all.

Ron let loose a puff of air. "Okay." He shifted his feet for a moment before asking, "What are you reading?"

Hermione sat back down in the armchair and held out the book for Ron to read. "_Hogwarts, A History_," she said.

Ron made a face. "That is not even assigned reading." Of course.

There was a pause before Hermione said anything in response. "It's interesting."

Ron knew that even though Hermione said that she forgave him, he was still walking on a thin line.

"Wouldn't you rather experience the castle yourself than read it from a book? It's right there in front of you and I'm pretty sure there are stuff that the author didn't even mention." His right hand played with his pajama shirt as he spoke, his head hanging a bit low.

Hermione touched the stuck-out bookmark lightly and with care. "You think?" Her voice giving off the intent that Ron should continue.

"Of course!" Ron suddenly exclaimed. He looked at her with excitement in his eyes."You see there this one time George and Fred were walking..."

* * *

Harry quickly walked down the corridor, his bag strand threatening to come off his shoulder. Seeing the pink lady's portrait, Harry promptly said the password before heading into the Gryffindor's common room. However, he made a sudden stop as he digest the scene in front of him.

Ron and Hermione.

Ron and Hermione sitting side by side on the floor talking.

And they were not fighting.

Harry smiled. Progress was made.

"Hey, what are you guys doing?" Harry walked over to one of the couches and placed his schoolbag there before heading to Ron and Hermione by the fireplace.

"Nothing much. I was just showing Hermione my pet rat Scabbers," replied Ron, holding out the oversized brown rat as he if needed to confirm their conversation topic.

"We are not even suppose to have a pet rat," stated Hermione. "The letter said a pet toad, cat or owl." She crossed her arms and gave Ron a look of disproval. She was never comfortable in breaking the rules of any kind.

"Nobody needs to know," said Ron, cheeks redden. She really needed to get off her high horse and she differently need to let loose.

"I know," said Hermione, her eyebrows raised.

"No one else needs to know," replied Ron as he stuck out his tongue. However, he was glad that she didn't go on a lecture about the ethics of rule-breaking.

"Fine, but I will not cover for you," said Hermione, a hint of a smile on her lips.

Ron smiled in response and continued playing with Scabbers' whiskers.

Choosing a spot near Hermione, Harry sat down and held out his hand. Ron gently placed the rat on Harry's opened palm.

"Where were you?" asked Hermione hesitantly as she remembered the last time she asked Harry a question. Her fingers were playing with her curls as she waited for him to answer.

"The library. It's quieter in there," said Harry. He looked up and met her eyes before looking back down at the rat. He saw distrust and doubts in them.

"I'm always at the library," said Hermione, choosing her words carefully and saying them slow. "I never seen you in there before." Her earlier accusations suddenly filled Harry's mind.

"Are you saying that you don't trust him?" accused Ron, his voice rose an octave. Hadn't Harry have enough already?

"No," Hermione tried to explain. "What I am trying to say is...where do you usually go? I mean, even in the library, there's always students around and I just want to know how you can get away from them."

"Oh," said Ron, misunderstanding her question and the situation. She wanted a better study space or a friend to hang out with. Ron got that. He also knew that Harry could defend himself, but it was nice that he could defend him from detractors, even from the girl he once thought of as a bossy know-it-all. Okay, he still thinks of her as a bossy know-it-all, but he's working on _not _expressing his opinions, or whatever. For Harry's sake, and for his peace of mind.

Harry petted the rat before saying, "I tend to head toward the back. Between two bookshelf that no one goes to." Sensing that Hermione wanted more, Harry quickly added, "I usually alternate. Sometimes I don't even go to the library. I'll just use one of the castle many empty rooms. As long as I don't touch anything out of the ordinary, I'm fine."

Not yet quite satisfied with the answer, Hermione decided to let it go for now. "Fine."

The three settle down to a comfortable conversation as the flickering flames continued to provide heat and comfort. Ron did the majority of the talking, but Hermione and Harry contributed their share. They talked about the past few weeks at Hogwarts, their classes and their impressions on anything in general.

"Professor Snape is out to get us for sure," declared Ron. He slapped his right hand against his knee for more emphasis. "He is always deducting points from our House and blaming us for his House's mishaps. It just not fair." There was no need for Slytherin to win the House Cup yet again. It was his...err...Gryffindor's turn this year.

"He's a great teacher," replied Hermione as she tried to defend the Potions Master. "So he's showing favoritism to his own house. You can't say that the other Head of House don't do the same." Every time she or Harry did something the other students did not, they were rewarded with at least five points each. Though, this was a weak argument. Amelia from Slytherin also got five points whenever she successfully performed a spell correctly.

"Yeah, but not so blatantly and so often," justified Ron, ignoring Hermione's reasonings. "And there is absolutely no need for him to be picking on Harry all the time."

"I'm fine, Ron," said Harry. He didn't like others to feel sorry for him and for his troubles. He could handle himself.

"I think Professor Snape is actually favoring Harry," said Hermione as she crossed her arms and waiting for Ron to retort.

"What?" exclaimed Ron. "Have you not been in class? It's clearly Draco that he's showering all the points to." She must be mad.

"For superficial stuff, Ron," explained Hermione. She glanced at Harry before setting her eyes on Ron once more. "It's like he is babying Draco, not teaching him. Professor Snape actually takes his time to question and quiz Harry, as if he cared."

"Yeah, by trying out insults on him," mumbled Ron. He hated not being able to come to Harry's defense in class without risking more points being deducted.

"Seriously, Ron, I'm fine," said Harry as he tried to comfort his friend. "I don't mind, actually. I had worst before."

Hermione gave Harry a look. "What do you mean by worst?"

"Um...it's nothing," Harry hastily replied. He hoped that she'll let it go, like what she had done earlier.

"Come on, Scabbers," said Ron, oblivious to the tension that suddenly filled the air. "Come on. Climb up my arm." The rat scurried around the carpet before them, ignoring Ron's command. Hermione's eyes fell down to Scabbers, as if she cared if the rat climbed up Ron's arm or not. On the record, she didn't. Off the record? She was interested.

"Hey, Ron," said Harry, changing the subject. Hermione was still looking at the rat. "I've been meaning to ask you, but why is he missing a toe?"

"I don't know," said Ron. The rat suddenly jumped in the air and ran into Ron's open hands. "He was like that for as long as I remember."

"It's a bit strange," said Hermione as she added in her input. "How is it that your rat lived this long?" The rats at her school never lived this long. Maybe it was because of magic?

"My mother like to say that it's because we love him so much," replied Ron. The rat would not stop squirming around! "I like to think that he's too stubborn to die."

Harry gave Hermione a knowing look. She was onto something. "I think it's strange that you suddenly have this rat almost right after the...Are you okay, Ron?"

The rat suddenly gave Ron a bite on his right index finger before shooting out of his hand and over to the entrance way. At the moment, Neville was walking through nursing his injured left wrist he got mended at the Hospital Wing when suddenly the four-legged creature ran right past him and out the portrait hole.

"Scabbers!" shouted Ron as he quickly got up and chased after his pet. _Not again_, he thought. _Just great. _

"Ron, it's curfew!" shouted Hermione as she followed behind him. Seriously, why must they continue on breaking more rules? "We'll get in trouble!"

"I don't care!" yelled Ron. He pushed pass Neville. "He's my pet!" _And Mum will kill me! _

Hermione gave a puff of annoyance before she followed Ron out.

"Neville, are you fine?" asked Harry. He steadied the accident prone housemate in front of him.

"Yeah, I'm fine," replied Neville, rubbing his shoulder that Ron bumped into. "You should go after them before Flich or Ms. Norris finds them."

"Okay," said Harry. Suddenly, a thought. "Wait...How did you know the password?" Neville never know the password. It was amazing really how much Neville constantly forget things.

"Oh, a friend of mine said to just write the password on my arm everyday before I leave the dormitory," replied Neville. He was pleased with the strategy he got going on. It had saved him from being locked out for several nights in the row now.

"Friend?" Harry didn't remember seeing Neville with anyone outside of class.

"You're going to lose Ron and Hermione," commented Neville, not noticing the confusion on Harry's face.

"Right. Right" Harry quickly turned around and headed out into the corridor. He'll ponder about the conversation he just had later.

* * *

"STUDENTS OUT OF BED!" Peeves bellowed. "STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!"

"Bloody hell," said Ron as he, Harry and Hermione ran for their lives down the hallway, only to come upon a locked door and a dead-end.

"This is it! We're done for! This is the end!" moaned Ron. His hands were tugging on his hair as he leaned against the wall. The rat in his pocket chose this moment to go deathly still.

"Stop being so melodramatic," commanded Hermione. She would not be caught breaking curfew. They just needed another solution, that's all. Maybe a distraction?

Harry took out his wand from inside of his robes.

"You have your wand with you?" asked Hermione, surprisingly. Why didn't she bring her wand with her? _A witch should always have her wand handy,_ she scowled to herself.

"I haven't changed yet," stated Harry. "So I didn't take out my wand or anything." Hermione looked at her pjs then at Ron's and Ron lack of shoes. He got a point there.

"Do you even know what you are doing?" asked Hermione. She moved her hair out of her eyes to see what Harry was about to do.

Ron suddenly looked around with alarm. A feeling of dread began to spread through his body. "I don't think we should..."

"Quite, Ron!" hushed Harry. "I'm trying to think." Harry took a deep breath and said, "_Alohomora._"

The lock clicked and the door swung open. Hermione quickly went in while Harry ushered Ron through the doorway. He then placed a finger on his lips and pressed his ear on the door.

Ron had just figured why he was feeling the way he was feeling.

"Ron, stop tugging on my my sleeves. Ron!" Glancing quickly at his friend before pressing his ear against the door again, Harry asked, "What?"

"This is the forbidden third corridor," whispered Ron, his voice barely audible.

"What?" Harry couldn't hear anything on the other side of the door. Was Filch gone?

"This is the door that Fred tried to get me to go into," answered Ron. His voice was beginning to break.

Before Harry could register Ron's words, he heard Hermione whispered, "Ron, Harry...look." Her words were laced with fear and terror.

Harry and Ron turned around. Suddenly, Harry knew why this corridor was forbidden. There was a mountainous and monstrous dog, a dog that filled the whole space between ceiling and floor. And, besides the size, this was no ordinary dog. Rather, this dog had three heads, three set of eyes and three mouths, each filled with sharp looking teeth and saliva drooling down their respective chin.

Ron gave a shot and quickly tried to get the door to open. Between Filch and the dog, he choose Filch.

Harry, however, noticed something.

The dog was standing on a trapdoor.

A door that lead somewhere.

A door that someone needed this murderous looking being to stand guard.

Everything was beginning to make sense.

He had just found out where the little package from vault seven hundred and thirteen was hiding.


	5. The Night of Grievances & A Smelly Troll

**Chapter Four: The Night of Grievances and A Smelly Troll**

The air had turned a bit frigid, feeling more like daggers against the skin more often times than not. The days were getting shorter, in what Snape considered the good giving into the darkness, if he believed in that sort of imagery. He knew for a fact that a certain red-head did, however.

The brooding male never liked this time of the year. He has no fondness in the anticipation for jolly in one month time nor the spooks of Halloween. Shouldn't they know that this is the time of year when we remorse, grieve and weep for the dead long gone?

Halloween is never a day to be celebrated.

Never.

This was one of the many reasons why he was stuck in his office in the hours leading up to the feast with a liquor bottle to his left and an ink bottle to his right. Alcohol and biting sarcasm to grade the utter failings of what Albus called _students_.

Snape took another drink before crossing out an entire section of a fourth year's parchment.

Albus been no help in dealing with the Quirrell matter. Sure, Snape noticed that the stuttering idiot hadn't been acting himself. He was even more sure that the stuttering was all an act. What was troubling was the fact that the purple turban professor has been asking the others about their part in the protection of the stone. _And they idiotically provided the stammering fool the bloody details. _That should've rung a bell to anyone with half a brain to something not being right. Trust was too easily given to everyone here with authority.

But what was Quirrell up to? The stone, Snape was sure. But, for what purpose? Riches? Immortality?

For himself or for another?

All Snape knew for certain was that he needed to keep his eyes on the stutterer. But, to what end?

Snape already needed to keep his eyes on the good for nothing James wanna-be. Though, what frustrated Snape the most was how un-like James Harry is. The kid was quiet and did his work without questions, which was a bit annoying to say the least. At least act like a spoil brat he is and confirm the lingering Potter DNA within him. Especially, _especially _when Minerva got that Nimbus Two Thousand for the offspring of terror. Congratulate him for breaking school rules, in which chasing after a replaceable novelty item that could've of end with Harry breaking his neck, by giving him a position on the Quidditch team and a state of the art boom to boot? Sure, that will teach Harry a lesson about rules being enforce here at Hogwarts.

What was more unnerving was the fact that Harry watches him and doesn't hide the fact. When green eyes meet black, Harry never looks away. It was always Snape. Always.

_I'm sorry, Lily. _

Snape poured out the remaining content of the bottle into his glass and took a huge gulp.

Halloween is never a good day.

Lily and James died this night for something he could've prevented. Lily never deserved this, and to a lesser extent James, though he hated to admit it. Snape was the one who dragged them into this. If he didn't try to act heroic and a better man for once, they wouldn't...Snape rubbed his eyes and leaned back into his chair. There was no use in thinking about the past. The past could never be changed, no matter how one desperately wished it to be.

Three people died that night, and the world just kept on turning.

Twirling the now empty glass in his hand, Snape sighed. He needed another bottle.

Something with a stronger punch.

* * *

It seems that it was just yesterday that the Great Hall was decorated for the welcoming banquet. Now it was Halloween feast, adding onto the underlying celebration and excitement for the end of the Wizarding War years earlier. Thoughts were few on those that suffered and died for this day of peace. All many cared for was the impending holiday and bountiful plates of food before them.

There were floating pumpkins and live bats flying through the air. The ceiling showed a full blood red moon, giving an erie feel to the colossus room. The spirits of Hogwarts collectively gathered in the Great Hall together, a rare occurrence, since some preferred the company of no one. It was a sentiment that some of the living wish they have now, particularly the Potions Master.

"Draco! You need to try this! I've never tasted anything like this before!" said a first-year Slytherin. He swallowed a mouthful of pie before taking a bite of another.

The blond haired child scrunched up his face after tasting the dessert. "I had better. My father will every year..."

From across the hall, a Ravenclaw fourth-year was demonstrating the proper logistic of the spell _Wingardium Leviosa _to a first-year. "You see," started the girl as she flex her wand hand, "you need to make the 'gar' nice and long. Also, you need to distinguish the 'o' in _Leviosa_ or else the spell won't work. Here, watch." The fourth-year made numerous decorative pumpkins and dead flowers float off the table, as if they were on strings tied only to her wand.

The first-year slowly nodded her head in understanding. "Wait, what if..."

Up at the Head Table, Albus was trying to catch Hogwarts' resident Potions Master's eyes. The black-haired man pointedly ignored his superior and inched away from the Headmaster. "Stop trying to get my attention, you ignorant old fool," he finally sneered. Snape had gotten enough of Albus already with his so called "duties" the Headmaster has him doing. He just wanted peace and quiet in this day of bleak.

Albus smiled in brief amusement, his eyes betraying his true emotion. He focused his attention elsewhere, in particular a certain Deputy Headmistress sitting beside him on his other side. They'll have their annual drink of remembrance later in private, Albus will make sure of it. Too many died in the war to be forgotten.

As Snape wiped away a nonexistent lint from his blacken robes, he suddenly notice the absent of a certain stuttering Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. _That blockheaded simpleton_, thought the potions professor. Snape made a sweep over the Great Hall. _Where did that fool go? _

Ron was getting annoyed with Hermione's constant tapping of her fork against the golden plate being used for the feast. Sure, they were better friends now, especially after the three-headed dog incident. But, that does not mean that she still didn't get on his nerves every once and awhile.

"Will you please stop," said Ron as he made a move to grab Hermione's fork away from her. The tapping was giving him a headache.

Hermione gave Ron a pointed look before grabbing Ron's fork and began tapping again.

Ron stared at the fork in his hand, then at his fork in her hands. _Great. Just great._

"I'm sure Harry will be here soon," stated Ron as he began to place some food onto his plate. He gave up trying to stop Hermione and her quirk. He'll just have to deal.

"First, the pet rat. Second, the three-headed dog. Third, the illegally obtained Nimbus Two Thousand," said Hermione as she counted off using her other hand not currently being occupied. "I think I'm more upset about the broom incident, but, seriously, Harry is testing my patience. Where is he?"

Swallowing a bite full of baked potato, Ron replied, "I'm sure he has a valid reason for being late. And you can't really blame him for the broom. It was a gift." And that said gift given to Harry by Gryffindor presiding Head. One would think that Hermione will give the Boy Who Lived a little lee-way, especially what he been through.

"Yes, from a professor. She is not really enforcing the rules of this place, is she?" said Hermione, sternly. Ron sighed in response. _Girls. _

Hermione gave Ron a heated glance before returning her attention back to the fork. She was indeed worry for her friend. This was not all an act of annoyance. Hermione wanted to be there for Harry given the day. But she can't be there if he isn't here for her to comfort.

_Clink, clink, clink. _

She made a grunt before letting out a puff of air. Breaking school rules. Professors turning a blind eye. What's next? A troll?

Suddenly, a bang was heard, a sharp interruption among the merriment. Silence fell upon the students and faculty as they looked over to the source of the noise. It was the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, bumping into the door leading to the Great Hall and falling down. Quirrell quickly and reluctantly picked himself up from the floor and hastily ran toward the Head Table, his purple turban lopsided and fear sewn into his face. He made it to Professor Dumbledore and slumped down to the floor in a pant. He urged himself to speak. His mouth opened and closed a few times before weakly giving voice to his warning. "Troll...in the dungeons...thought you ought to know." He promptly fainted and proceeded to ignore the erupting fear, sounds and tension in the Great Hall.

Hermione stared blankly at the unconscious professor. The fork in her hand stilled. She frowned.

_Of course. Just my luck. _

* * *

The hallway was rather empty, to say the least. The students were getting ready to head to the Great Hall for the big Halloween feast, eagerness and enthusiasm colored and lighten their footsteps.

Harry, however, cared not for the feast nor the celebration. He just wanted to be alone, away from cheerfulness and festivities. There was none of that for him today.

Throughout the morning and most of the afternoon, Harry dodged questions from his concerning female companion and avoided much interaction with his cheerful male companion. Instead, he went through the motions, like how he usually do most days.

Go to class. Do homework. Participate in reality.

Currently, it was a few minutes to the feast. Harry wanted nothing to deal with that, thus him walking the length of the castle with only the sounds of his feet padding the floor for company. He rather not have his company spoil the celebration and gleeful atmosphere. It was only him that was grieving for what this day actually stood for. Well, maybe that was not true. His parents did have friends who might give this day a passing thought. There were probably others whom also grieved alongside him, sympathetically. However, they were hard to come by.

For most of the day, the students were in anticipation for the feast that was to occur at the dawn of night. There were pranks pulled and candies eaten, a great representation for the children they are. Harry was fine with that. The only problem Harry had was the lack of understanding on why he preferred not to celebrate this fine holiday.

His parents _died_. Ten years ago tonight. One would think that would constitute the need to feel remorse for that horrid event on its anniversary. Instead, many did not simply remember. Only that he saved the wizarding world from a whole lot of pain without considering that he was enduring the pain within himself.

And, thus, let him grieve. Let him not be thrilled for the hours leading up to the feast. Let him remind himself on what he really is, an orphan. A lone child that was paying respect by remembering his parents and their death.

Maybe he should head back. Sleep the night away. Start early on his homework. Something that did not reenact a lone miser walking aimlessly in circle and wishing for time to turn back.

Harry was about to head back to the Gryffindor common room when he heard a splash, then a thump. He paused before walking over to where he thought he heard the noise come from. _Wasn't everyone at the Halloween feast? _

Concerned, Harry pushed opened the door to the girls' bathroom and called out, "Hello? Do you need help?" Too bad someone was never around long enough to help him. Not anymore.

Somewhere from inside the room he heard the sound of moving water and a voice, with a hint of annoyance but yet playful, replied, "Only if you stick your hand in a toilet for me."

Confused, Harry walked into the bathroom and over to the girl wearing Slytherin green, the one who gave voice to the odd request. She just gave him a brief glance before poking her wand into the toilet bowl.

Harry frowned as he looked upon the scene. Someone dumped her textbooks into the toilet. You think that in a school of magic and wonder they would've picked something better than a muggle bullying cliché. "Wouldn't a wand and a spell suffice?" Harry questioned as the girl kept poking around with her wand instead of actually using the instrument for the oblivious purpose.

The girl in green made a face in mock annoyance. "But that would be too easy." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and away from her eyes. The corner of her lips turned up a bit at his amusing question.

"But convenient with us being in a magical school and all," said Harry as he made a gesture around him using his wand hand to indicate the location and how un-muggle like it was. Suddenly, he paused. He was surprised that he was actually having a pleasant conversation for once. Harry almost gave her a genuine smile.

The brunette gave the boy a stare and sighed dramatically, as if the work she was about to do was one of Hercules twelve labors. Shaking her head, she levitated her books from the toilet and performed a drying spell. "You were suppose to be my knight in shining armor. You know, help out the damsel in distress." She flipped through a couple of pages to see if the ink bleed through or not.

Harry gave that some thought. "Now that would be too easy," said Harry, amusement littered through his words. This was the first time in a long while that he felt anything other than sorrow and guilt. He was surprised on how easy this conversation was going so far, considering he was from the house of red and she was from the house of green. Every time they talked, she was always tense and he was always prying. But Harry couldn't blame her for this. Not what she had to go through every day for being perceived as a Muggle-born in a house of snake. He considered Amelia Pierce one of the bravest person he ever known because of that. Much braver than he could ever be.

Amelia rolled her eyes. She took Harry's hands and placed her books there. He stood there for a minute, not knowing what to do or what to say as he watched her head over to the sink to get her bag.

"I'm sorry about how Ron acted toward you earlier," said Harry, finally finding his voice. Deciding he needed to say something more given the lack of response, he added, "I'm working on his attitude problem."

Amelia gave a small laugh, finding amusement in that statement. "It's fine. It seems like most of the student population here needs an attitude adjustment. It's nothing I can't handle." She smiled at Harry and looked at him straight in the eye, blue on green. "You don't need to keep checking up on me. It's starting to get rather annoying."

Harry gave her the books so she can placed them in her bag. "I liked our little daily two questions routine:

'Hey, are you okay?'

'Yes.'

'Are you sure?'

'Yup.'

It makes my day."

"You have a sad life then," replied Amelia. She checked her bag to see if she had everything in order. Seeing that everything is, she finally took a good long look at her savior from head to toe. He gave the perception that everything was in order, his hair neatly combed and his robes without spots.

"Are you okay?" Amelia asked. There was something off about him. Though, if you questioned Amelia about that, she would say that there was always something off about him. Even she could see that.

Harry smiled sadly. "That's my line."

Amelia frowned. "I'm serious. You look worst for wear."

Harry looked down at his robes and bag. There seemed to be nothing out of order. "It's just this day and all." He didn't want to elaborate more.

"Oh." She tugged on her bag's shoulder strand. She waited for him to continue, letting him speak on his own terms. Deciding to continue with this conversation than go to the horrid Halloween feast, Amelia went over to the furthest wall away from the door and sat down. She then made a motion for Harry to sit down next to her, which he obliged.

Harry glanced down at his hands before darting his eyes around the bathroom, anywhere but her. "I'm just trying to forget the whole ordeal," he slowly said, sadness etched with each word.

"Your parents need someone to remember them, Harry," said Amelia, hoping that her words will give him comfort. "Especially from their only child."

"I'm trying," replied Harry, giving no indication that this was the first time he heard someone talk about his parents today. He really was trying, though he rather didn't have to try at all. He just wanted his mum and dad here with him. He wanted them to hold him tight and say they'll never let go. Sensing a lull in the conversation, Harry quickly added in, "I'm on the quidditch team, actually. Seeker."

"Really?" said the girl. "You don't seem to be the person that willingly participate in a public sport like that." Given that he stick to his books and not the type to gather unnecessary attention.

"I didn't want to at first. But I didn't want to disappoint McGonagall. Hermione said that my father was on the team when he was here in Hogwarts, so I guess it's a way to remember him by." He leaned his head against the wall, feeling the coolness of it seep through his head and chill his scalp.

Silence again filled the room, with only the sounds of the dripping faucet providing company to the two sulking students.

Harry finally turned to look at Amelia. "Are you sure you're fine?" He glanced back at the toilet that, until recently, held her textbooks.

Amelia smiled a bit, grateful that someone was there looking out for her. However, he didn't need to be concern for her. "It's nothing I can't handle, Harry." She did not need anyone's help.

"That's what I always say about my cousin. It's nice to have someone or a friend to stand up for you." Harry gave her an encouraging smile. He wanted her to finally open up to him, just for once.

"We shouldn't talk about Dudley, not today. Actually, what's really troubling me is my recurring dream," said Amelia, offering a different olive branch than the one he wanted.

"Dream?"

"There's a mad man. He's dressed in black robes. The robes are so black, it was like seeing the night sky with all the stars and the moon turned off," replied Amelia, giving something of herself in response to Harry's statement about his cousin. "He was standing in a pool of children's blood. And, he just laughed and laughed and laughed."

Harry grimaced. "That doesn't sound too pleasant."

Amelia laughed, something that was rare these days. She wasn't expecting that as his reaction. More on the line of morbid and being mad. "Yeah, it was."

Harry smiled at her reaction. It was easy talking to her. Sometimes he forgot how easy it was to have someone to talk to. Ron and Hermione didn't necessary filled in the void. Ever since he came to Hogwarts, the loneliness and longing filled his days, wanting and wishing that circumstances were different. He wanted to opening talk to his best friend, but she wasn't here for him, not the way he wanted her to be. There's a role for him to fulfill. He must not forget about that.

Harry briefly touched his chest, trying to feel the slight indentation of his charm below his robes.

Suddenly, Amelia stopped smiling. She quickly grabbed Harry's arm and leaned forward toward the door to the bathroom. "Do you smell that?"

Harry frowned. He took a sniff. A strange sort of smell suddenly filled every corner of the small room, slowing encroaching within their space. It was foul, as if someone took rotten eggs and baked them in heat. Harry quickly stood up, dragging his female companion along with him.

"I think we should..." Suddenly there was a crash and the door to the bathroom was thrown and fell against the wall opposite it. A low grunting broke the silent that followed. A shuffling of feet into the room made known to the two children the source of the sound. The creature that knocked the door down had to bend his head over to allow his massive height in, his skin a dull pale-grey color, his body like a boulder with its small bald head perched on top. His legs were thick and his feet were flat and horny. This creature was also carrying a weapon, a wooden club that was easily bigger than either of the two other occupants currently in the room.

Amelia tensed beside the Boy-Who-Lived. "Harry, it's a troll."

"I know," Harry whispered back, trying not to capture the troll's attention. It was currently scratching his head and looking side to side, questioning if he should stay or leave this room.

"What is a troll doing here in Hogwarts?" whispered Amelia. "The school has wards for these kinds of thing."

The troll shook his head, as if he was shaking something loose from his ears. He sneezed, trembling the small enclosed room and spraying goo everywhere.

"I don't think we should..."

_Crash. _

Harry looked down. Amelia had backed up into her bag and the pile of books that were stacked in there made a thunderous sound as it fell down unceremoniously.

Amelia squeezed her eyes shut and mouth the words, "Sorry."

The troll snapped into attention and focused on the two by the wall. He made another grunting sound and began to advance toward them, dragging his club behind him. Suddenly, he raised his club and made a big swinging motion.

Amelia and Harry spilt apart as they ran away from the club of terror. The club hit the sinks with a loud clink and water began to spray everywhere.

Harry shouted, "What do we do!?" This was not how he plan to spend the evening on the day of his parents' death. Not how he planned at all.

Amelia looked around her before glancing at Harry. "I don't have my wand." The troll took another swing, this time aiming at Amelia. She ducked out of the way, heading further away from where she left her wand by her bag.

"Amelia!" shouted Harry. He tried to get the creature to focus on him, away from the unarmed girl, by jumping and making a loud of noise. He threw a large metal pipe at the troll.

However, the troll took no mind to the piece of metal. Instead, he continued to try to get a hit on the girl.

"Don't be an idiot!" shouted Amelia, as she ducked yet another swing. "Use bloody magic and save me!"

_Oh! _There were still moments in which he forgot he was a wizard. Never mind that now. He needed to stop the club! But, how? Suddenly he had an idea. "_Wingardium Leviosa!" _

The club flew out of the troll's hand and hovered above its head. The creature stared up at his floating weapon with confusion and bafflement.

Amelia stared at Harry in disbelief. "Well? Drop it on his head!"

Harry nodded and made a downward motion, clubbing the troll.

The troll swayed a bit before falling with a thud, making the whole room vibrate.

Harry shakily lowered his wand. He glanced over at Amelia to see if she was alright, before looking back at the troll. "Is it...dead?"

"I don't think so," said Amelia. She got up from where she had fallen, brushing back her wet hair and trying to steady her shaking hands and legs. After a moment, she made her way over to Harry, standing besides him and joining him in staring at the unconscious troll. She gave him a small shoulder bump, not sparing him a glance. "Thanks. I guess you finally did save a damsel in distress," said Amelia, smirking.

Noticing that she was besides him, Harry glanced over to the girl. "I think we should..."

Footsteps could be heard as Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape and Professor Quirrell came clamoring into the room. Quirrell took one look at the troll and gave a small whimper before turning his back to the creature. Snape gave him a disgusted look and went over to the troll to check if he was actually knocked out.

Professor McGonagall glared at Harry and Amelia, looking as if she was about to eat them alive.

"What on earth were you two thinking?" said the professor, ice and fire clearly under toning each and every word. "You're lucky you weren't killed. Why aren't you in your dormitory?"

Harry looked at Amelia. Amelia gave him a shrugged. "Professor...," started Amelia.

"They weren't at the feast, Minerva." Snape gave Harry a piercing glare before settling on McGonagall.

"I'm sorry?"

"They weren't at the feast and I want to know why." Snape crossed his arms and stared down at the two children.

"Peeves dropped my textbooks in the toilet, sir. Harry was helping me get them out," Amelia quickly said with no hesitations nor pauses.

"Peeves?" Disbelief filled Snape's response.

"Yes. And then the troll came and Harry saved me from its club." Snape narrowed his eyes at the answer. `

"I see," said McGonagall. "Well, I still say you were lucky. Not many first years could have taken on a full-grown mountain troll. Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this."

"Yes, madam," replied Harry and Amelia.

"You two should head back to your dormitory." McGonagall gave a sighed. "Quirrell, I'm sure even you can handle an unconscious troll."

Quirrell gave a small nod, uncertainty written on his face.

"Good, I'll walk Mr. Potter here back and Severus has Miss Pierce. I want this creature gone."

She didn't wait for a reply and walked out of the room, expecting Harry to follow her. Harry quickly went to get his bags and followed after his House Head. Nearing the end of the hallway, Harry glanced back to Amelia and Snape. She didn't look too shaken up with the turn of events.

She didn't need to lie about the books though. It wasn't Peeves' doing.

Wait.

Why was Professor Snape limping?


End file.
